The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree

Lizzy, her face hot, pushed her hair out of her eyes. She sat back down at her typewriter table and turned the platen on the machine, bending over to look as if she were searching for the place where she had left off typing. But to tell the truth, she was trying, not very successfully, to catch her breath. She was still feeling the hardness of Grady’s body against hers. It was as if they had simply picked up where they had left off on Saturday night in the car.

Mr. Moseley hung his hat on the rack and shrugged out of his jacket. He turned, studying her for a moment, as if he were seeing her in a new way. “Doll,” he said, half under his breath. Then he smiled crookedly and put the morning’s mail on her desk. He began to roll up his sleeves.

“Well, now,” he said in a businesslike tone, “what about telephone calls? Anything urgent?”

Lizzy reached for the collection of telephone notes and handed them to him. He went through them, nodding, until he got to his wife’s two calls. His mouth hardened. “She didn’t leave a message?”

“Just that she’d like you to call as soon as you got in.”

“Right,” he said sarcastically, and wadded up the note and threw it, forcibly, into the wastebasket. He looked at Lizzy. “Did you do what I told you to do at the bank this morning?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve put the money in the safe. In an envelope with my name on it.” She took a breath. “What’s it all about, Mr. Moseley? I’ve heard something about a bank examiner—”

“You’ve heard that?” he asked in some surprise. “People are talking about it? Who told you?”

“I’d rather not say.”

He grunted. “This damn town. People talk all the time. You can’t keep private affairs private.” He glanced at her. “Not that kind of affair,” he added archly. “Business affairs, I mean.”

“Yes, sir,” she said. Not wanting to be put off, she persisted. “But what about that bank examiner?”

“Is this the Cooper file?” He picked up a manila folder from her desk.

“Yes, sir. But what about—”

He gave her a hard, straight look, his courtroom look. “I can’t talk about it, Lizzy. There is a problem at the bank, yes. It may be a serious problem. That’s all I can say. And even if I knew the whole story—which I don’t, not yet—I couldn’t tell you. And that’s a fact.”

She frowned. A serious problem? Of course it was a serious problem! Something was going on at the bank and nobody was supposed to know anything about it. But the bank was the heart of the town. If it failed— He paused, pursed his lips, and regarded her narrowly. “I don’t suppose it’s any of my business, Liz, but have you been seeing Grady Alexander long?”

The suddenness of the question startled her. She swallowed. “A ... while.”

“How well do you know him?”

She tilted her head, catching the clear implication, which offended her, although she wasn’t sure why. “Pretty well,” she replied defensively.

But it was a silly question. She’d have to know a man very well before she let him kiss her like that, wouldn’t she? She wasn’t the kind of girl who went around kissing everybody who wore pants.

Half-defiantly, wanting to show him that she had some important news, too, she straightened her shoulders and added: “Grady found a dead girl in Pine Mill Creek yesterday, and I identified her. It was Bunny Scott. He stopped in just now to tell me that she didn’t die in the car wreck. She was shot.”

What happened next was totally out of the blue.

“Bunny—The dead girl—” Mr. Moseley stared at her, first disbelief, then dismay written across his face. “Bunny? She’s ... dead? Good Lord!”

Lizzy was jolted. It sounded as if—“You knew her?”

He half-turned away, his hand over his mouth, as if he were gagging. “Yes. I mean, I know who she is. Was. The blonde who worked at Lima’s. Right? You say she was ... shot? Somebody killed her?” His voice was gruff and shaky, and then half-pleading. “Oh, God. Jesus, Liz. You’re kidding, aren’t you? You’re making this up?”

It took a moment to persuade him that she wasn’t kidding, a little longer to tell him the full story. About Grady coming to town for the sheriff and for Charlie Dickens. About going out there with Grady and Charlie and seeing the body and knowing who it was from the hair and the rhinestone bracelet. And then about Grady telling her that Bunny was shot and the car pushed into the creek, with the ignition key off.

“Grady says it was a twenty-two. Dr. Roberts retrieved the bullet.” Lizzy swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and she was trembling. “From inside Bunny’s ... skull.” Somehow it was that detail that made it so much more horrible, the finding of the bullet that had killed her, somewhere inside her head.

“Good Lord,” Mr. Moseley said, very low. He passed his hand across his forehead, wincing as if he himself were feeling the pain of the bullet. His words were ragged, as if his throat was clogged. “She was so alive. I can’t believe—”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzy said, feeling inadequate, trying to think of what to say. “If I’d known that you knew her, I wouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t know her,” he cut in harshly. He put up his hand as if to stop her, physically, from going a step farther. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”